


Staged Stooges

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Fluff and Mush, Forehead Kisses, Gen, Guardian Angel Castiel, Multi, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Prompt Fill, Research, Sleepy Boys, Sleepy Dean, Sleepy Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4050091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel likes to look in on his humans. Tonight, he finds they have worn themselves out with research.</p><p>[Anon Tumblr prompt]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staged Stooges

**Author's Note:**

> Not technically Wincestiel, but for those who like that, feel free to see it that way.

When Castiel arrived at the bunker, he found his humans in a state of disrepair. He smiled fondly at the general dishevelment, and fixed it into his memory.

Sam’s face was covered in his hair, so that only the tip of his nose stuck out of the soft brown waves. He lay with his arms folded on the massive bunker library table, surrounded by books and scrolls, papers and files. Castiel glanced at the subject matter at hand, and cringed as he realized his human charges were researching Grigori. Not that they had found any since the incident with Claire’s mother. If they had, they would have called to him immediately. No, they were preparing. Knowing the Grigori were still active out there somewhere, they were preparing. Castiel felt nothing but disgust and fury at the very notion of the Grigori, angels meant to watch but not interfere, meant to be watchers, just like him so long ago, but these had become corrupt beyond imagination, feeding on living souls. Why did it seem angels were always letting down the humans they were meant to love as God commanded?

Dean’s snore drew his eyes to him, and Castiel smiled. Mark or no, the man’s scotch-induced slumber seemed peaceful enough tonight. Castiel had long since given up looking into the dreams of humans, let alone joining them inside. Since having been human himself, he knew how convoluted and misleading human dreams were. He wished Dean well in his, but Castiel’s curiosity was not going to get the better of him tonight. Dean had recently told him that curiosity killed the Cas, and he was not entirely convinced that was untrue. He had, after all, died many times because he was unwilling to take things at face value. He was better off staying out of Dean’s rat’s nest for now.

Dean was sitting slumped but upright in his chair, glass tumbler still locked in his hand like a child’s stuffed animal. In front of him was Sam’s computer, screen long since gone dark. Castiel pried away the glass from Dean, who whimpered, but when the angel’s two fingers tenderly touched his forehead, his head dipped down to his chest again, and he slept. In case his movements disturbed Sam, he performed the same action to ensure his unconscious bliss.

Castiel started to close the laptop, but hesitated.

Curiosity killed the Cas.

He licked his lips and fought against it, but, as always, failed. He touched the space bar and watched the screen light up. Castiel shook his head in amusement. The front window was research regarding Grigori. However, the windows hidden behind it were various and clearly had nothing to do with corrupt celestials at all. He flipped through the tabs as he had learned from Sam to do, his smile softening with fondness for his older human as he did so.

There was everything from classic muscle car sites, to slightly disturbing Asian cartoon porn, to a site dedicated to odd cat videos, and one displaying short, cycling videos without sound called “Stooges Gifs,” where three strangely-groomed humans appeared to dislike one another very much and continuously damaged one another over and over again.

Castiel glanced at Dean’s phone sitting next to the laptop, and he bit his lip.

Play was not in angel programing, not the way it was for humans. But Castiel had spent entirely too much time with Sam and Dean Winchester to not recognize a perfect opportunity when he saw one.

 Equipped with both men’s phones, Castiel activated the cameras on each. He snapped a few shots of them as they were, as well as some of Dean’s browsing for Sam’s entertainment. Then he went to work with his poor, exhausted humans at his mercy. It was easier than it should have been to pose the men in their chairs like dolls, putting their arms around one another and leaning their heads to touch at the temples. Castiel had only seen them wearing hats one time that he could readily remember, and that was before their venture into 1861. Now, he indulged in a game. He blinked out of the bunker, to return moments later with various borrowings from a costume shop he had seen in New York City once. He would return them, of course, but in the meantime, he had entirely too much fun placing hat after hat on their heads, and taking photos. It was more amusement than he had partaken in for as long as he could remember. Through it all, his sweet humans slept soundly.

When at last, he had taken his fill of entertainment, Castiel returned the borrowed items, and returned the phones to their places at the table, though not before fumbling until he could figure out how to change the background photograph for each of them.

At that point, he lifted each hunter in turn, and placed them gently into their own separate beds, and indulged in a soft kiss on each brow, made sure each was comfortable, and pulled off their boots. Finally, he placed glasses of water next to each bed, touched the back of each hand gently, and removed himself from the bunker.

The _prayer_ first thing the next day was less than traditional. “Dammit, Castiel! Get your feathered ass down here!”

 Castiel smiled to himself. Ah. The Winchesters were awake.


End file.
